Trading Hearts
by The Painted Green Door
Summary: AU. Sequel to Trading Cards. All Pippa wants is to leave the "safe house" and its remote location. To her, each day is unbearable, especially when he's asked to watch over her. But the days quickly fly by and somehow become weeks. And then the weeks manage to transform themselves into months. And then one day the phone rings...Takes place before & during Winter Soldier.
1. Prologue

**Note:** Just a small note to say that I do not own MARVEL, The Avengers or any of the characters in any way, although there are some original characters in this story that I am happy to say I brought to life such as Pippa and Atticus-okay well maybe not Atticus, but you get the general idea.

This story, _Trading Hearts_ , is a sequel to _Trading Cards_. While you are certainly free to read this without reading _Trading Cards_ , I strongly suggest you reading _Trading Cards_ so you won't be lost. At the same time, if you do decide to venture into the world of Trading Hearts I wish thee the best and hope you enjoy the story.

I think that just about sums it up. Happy reading!

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 **TRADING HEARTS**

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 **By: The Painted Green Door**

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Prologue:

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A rather unbearable winter storm took place on January 2nd which meant a series of things at Clint Barton's homestead. A series of heavy snows combined with freezing temperatures and spine chilling gusts of wind sent a certain Mr. Barton busy with the tasks of chopping wood and tending to the antique cast iron stove found in the living room of his farmhouse. Clint would clomp rather ungracefully (though expertly) through the feet of snow, lost in his own thoughts as he mechanically completed his work. His thoughts currently revolved around his recent addition to the Barton homestead.

Likewise, his tenant was currently in a dream like state as she shuffled around the spacious and unfortunately drafty abode. Or at least that was Clint's observation as he made his way through the door and placed the freshly chopped firewood near the already plentiful collection of wood stacked near the entrance.

"The snow doesn't seem to be slowing down." He puffed out as he shrugged off his thick winter jacket, and bent down to untie his snow boots. He grimaced at the possibility of being snowed in. The roads wouldn't be plowed until days later due to their location, and even then the roads could be dangerous from the ice since there usually was a shortage of salt. As he managed to take off his boots and make his way towards the kitchen, he mused whether he should dedicate some time to the small shed outside. Any more large amounts of snow could possibly make the roof of the wooden shed cave in.

His temporary resident seemed to not register his words and he paused in the doorway to take a moment to study her figure. She seemed frailer and the bounce in her step which he grew to know from their Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. days seemed to be nonexistent. A pang of worry occurred in his heart but he did his best to ignore it. Instead, he told himself it was common sense that she would be this way. After all, the circumstances weren't exactly ideal, there was the fact that she was in an induced coma for…a rather considerable amount of time.

He cleared his throat as he regained his focus, making himself push his previous thoughts and worries away, "Pippa."

This time she heard him. Jumping as if she had just been shocked, she whirled around quickly to meet his eyes for only a brief second before she cast her own downwards, "Oh, Clint. I didn't hear you. Dinner should be ready soon." She mumbled this all very quickly, her cheeks flushing a violent shade of red. She then clamped her mouth shut, pursed her lips, and continued busying herself around the kitchen.

He pretended not to notice the fact that he cheeks had sprung a rather bright shade of red, or that she pretended that he didn't even exist. Instead, he chuckled silently, knowing full well why she acted in such a way.

It was with that thought that he glanced up at the frame of the kitchen's entrance way and swiftly snatched the bunch of handsome mistletoe from its spot. He glanced over to see if Pippa noticed, but she seemed preoccupied with checking whatever was cooking in the oven.

Smiling like a mischievous schoolboy, he then snuck outside to discard it in one of the nearby fields. By the time he returned to the house, dinner was ready.

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 **Note: I know I probably don't deserve it since I've been nonexistent for many moons, but can I ask for 5+ Reviews? I would love to hear from you guys (it's been too long) and what you think. Suggestions? Critiques?**

Much love and thanks,

The Painted Green Door


	2. Chapter One

**Note:** Happy Friday! Thank you all so much for the wonderful wave of support you've already shown me and this story. You guys are incredible. In fact, you guys inspired me so much that I made myself finish this so it would be up by the weekend!

As my reply to my Guest reviewer: It's so wonderful to be back! I hope your excited for the story. Things will be slowly revealed throughout the story but yes, it seems that Clint is the only one who knows about her at the moment.

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 **GOAL: Total of 15+ Reviews** (We were so close in making our last goal. Turns out we were shy of one review, but that's okay!)

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 **Chapter One:**

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 _How long?_

 _How long must it go on this way?_

 _You give me no choice but to stay_

 _There's no use in crying I'm dried up_

 _Winter_ Kina Grannis

* * *

 _She silently crept down the corridor, cringing as the worn floorboards creaked insistently under her weight. Biting her bottom lip, she glanced at the slightly ajar door that was only a few feet away from where she currently was. Her ears picked up on small, soft snores-a confirmation that the occupant was well asleep. Becoming more confident, she held her breath as slipped past her obstacle before treading as lightly as possibly further down the hallway. The brunette relied on her senses for the most part, her hands grasping air as she tried to find the stair's railing._

 _She relaxed significantly when the pads of her fingers skimmed the smooth wood, signaling to her that she had successfully reached the beginning of the several stairs. Holding onto the rail as though her life depended on it (although she supposed in a way it actually did depend on it), she took her time tip toeing down the winding staircase. For the most part she managed with ease, although at one point she did have to freeze for a good long minute when one of the stairs moaned loudly when her weight was applied. She suspected that the floorboard was either quite old or in the process of rotting. Pippa made a mental note to avoid that step on her way back up._

 _By the time she had reached the bottom stairs her eyes had adjusted to the dark. The agent paused for a moment to gain her sense of direction before turning towards her right towards the kitchen. The constant hum of the refrigerator let her know that she had destination._

 _Flick._

 _Instantly she was bathed in light. Her eyes blinked uncommonly fast, trying to adjust to the sudden amount of lighting that filled the room. Shielding her eyes from the offending electricity she was quite startled to see a certain someone sitting on top of the kitchen table._

 _"C-Clint."_

 _She clearly wasn't expecting him, and thought furiously. She was so sure that she had heard him sleeping when she passed his bedroom, she worked hard to be stealthy. But perhaps she had only imagined his snores. Maybe he had already been up. But then why was he waiting in the dark? The back of her neck prickled at the thought of him waiting under the cover of night. She pushed the uncomfortable thought away and traded it for another explanation. Perhaps he had swept past her as she made her way downstairs. But she hadn't heard him…._

 _She frowned at herself not pleased with any of the possible scenarios. The thought that she could ask him arose but she doubted that he would actually give her a clear and concise answer. Although they were living under the same roof that didn't mean he suddenly became an open book. He was still a man of mystery. Of silence. And secrets._

 _"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked, not wasting times for pleasantries. This is not to say that he asked this harshly or unkindly. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He inquired with a gentle tone, his face showing a small sign of concern for the young woman. In normal circumstances he would have contained his emotions. He would have shoved them in the back of his mind and give no regard to them, but in this environment he always allowed himself to be human, to indulge in emotions. His home was the only place he comfortably allowed himself to partake in such a practice._

 _His eyes studied her carefully, drinking in her rather flustered appearance. Her hair looked rather disheveled, her forehead shining from a thin layer of sweat, but her face betrayed no signs of exhaustion or illness._

 _"I just wanted a glass of water," she confessed, her eyes drawn towards the ground. Her hair brushed against her cheeks as she studied the kitchen's floor. There was no particular pattern. No elegant, decorative tile. Just the same wood that was used for of the floors in all the rooms in the farmhouse. Clint thought she resembled a small child who stuck her hand in the cookie jar, and he portraying the disapproving parent._

 _He turned away, a small wry smile gracing his lips as he busied himself around the kitchen, producing a glass of cool, refreshing water. He wondered if she would have found the comparison amusing. As he handed her the glass of water and directed her to take a seat at the table he then pursed his lips._

 _No. He was sure that she wouldn't have found it funny. Perhaps in the past she would have rolled her eyes and shook her head but now…things were different. Things had changed._

 _He turned to glance out the small window above the kitchen sink, and admired the brilliant full moon which shone proudly in the sky. He wondered how one would go about painting the scene. What colors would an artist use to portray the moon correctly? White of course. And certainly a dash of gray. Maybe even a small tint of blue._

 _The sound of an empty glass touching the surface of the counter beside him roused him from his thoughts. He turned to appraise the person beside him:_

 _She had certainly grown frailer in these last few months. Her skin had lost the healthy glow that she had always possessed back in the days of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Now she simply looked…he couldn't quite put the correct term on it. He finally decided on the word 'lost'. Yes, that suited her best._

 _She looked a bit lost._

 _And that surprised and startled him. She had been so sure of herself in the past. It was one of the qualities that made him so drawn to her. He had always admired her sense of confidence, how sure she was about herself and the things that surrounded her even in moments of chaos and insecurity._

 _He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion._

 _Last winter had been an awful one, resulting in freezing conditions which were rather icy. With the roads being dangerous Clint had opted in staying indoors and living off the non-perishable items found in his pantry. It was during this time that Clint had developed a rather bad habit. It all started with him looking out of the window and seeing a small, scrawny bird hopping on the crust of the dazzling white snow. Not thinking about it twice, he had fed the bird a handful of bread crumbs. Somehow feeding this one particular bird turned into a routine for the rest of the season. He blamed it on his name 'Hawkeye', or as some people called him the 'Hawk'. Perhaps if his name wasn't that of a bird he wouldn't have developed such a relationship with the little bird._

 _The memory of the scrawny desperate look the bird's face had held as it searched for food, and the grateful look in its eye when he scattered the crumbs on the ground was conjured as he looked at Pippa turning to go back upstairs (presumably back to bed)._

 _Pippa was like that bird._

 _And he wanted to help and protect her just like he did with the winged creature._

 _"Pippa," he called out softly after the fleeting figure. It felt strange to say her name. It had been so long since he actually said her name aloud. He had thought of her constantly, but he had never truly spoken about her (or to her) until now._

 _She turned, looking curiously but warily at him. Standing still under the doorway she waited for the man to continue speaking. Unfortunately Clint had not thought this far ahead, and so he stood trying to form thoughts into words, and words into sentences that could be clearly understood. But his mind seemed to fail him and he could not think straight. Giving up trying to make his voice work, he walked towards her slowly. Her eyes held wonderment in them, intensifying as he drew near._

 _His gray eyes were drawn towards the small bunch of mistletoe which was hanging delicately over the two of them. Glancing down at Pippa he then slowly leant in, allowing her time to reject him if she so desired. But instead she looked at him as though she was entranced under some sort of spell. Wasting no time but deciding not to push his luck, he swooped in to kiss her on the corner of her mouth. He took a millisecond to breathe in her scent-something softly floral but nothing overwhelming-before straightening up and slipping past her figure. He made his way silently towards the stairs, the desire to sleep washing over him._

 _"What was that for?" she asked, sounding frustrated._

 _He looked over his shoulder, surprised at her sudden burst of emotion. Her eyes narrowed, a scowl appearing on her lips, "What are you playing at Barton?"_

 _He sighed. It was obvious that she didn't understand where he was coming from. Why he did what he did. Too tired to argue or to explain himself he started to climb the stairs, "I'm not playing at anything. It was just a belated Christmas kiss, Pippa," he then continued to speak after a small moment of silence, "A belated Merry Christmas. I hope you sleep well. Good night."_

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The sound of a swift knock startled her and drew her out of her reverie. Cheeks blushing, she glanced towards the door as she restlessly waited for someone to enter.

When a minute had passed with no sign of movement she turned her attention towards herself. Perhaps she had only imagined the sound. It was probably just a layer of snow falling off the roof and onto the ground.

Pippa shifted uncomfortably in her-the bed, the wooden frame of the furniture creaking under her movements. Sighing, she then tried to readjust the worn but obviously loved quilt that was neatly covering her frame. It was rather heavy, especially when there at least three other layers of sheets and blankets. Frustrated at the fact that she couldn't locate her core strength, she flopped her head on the pillow, giving up any hopes of readjusting her bed sheets.

The door abruptly swung open which resulted in a small cry to escape her lips. She stared at the intruder in disbelief, not trusting her own eyes.

"Pip!" the figure chirped, walking in the room. The man surveyed the room for a good few seconds before looking disinterested. He then settled comfortably at the end of her bed, squishing her toes and earning a small kick. Chuckling, he scooted closer to the edge, "I've missed my favorite person terribly. It hasn't been the same without you, you know."

"I suppose it's good to see you Stark," she replied coolly. Truth be told, she was very happy to see a familiar face, especially Tony. While she wouldn't have objected a visit if another Avenger had come such as Natasha or Thor, it wouldn't have been the same. While he did get on her nerves from time to time, and certainly did test her patience, she appreciated him.

Not that she would actually say that aloud. Instead, she did her best to act in a cool and collected manner. If Tony did get the sense that she was beyond happy to see him she would see his ego grow exponentially so much so that it wouldn't fit through the door when he left.

"Oh come on, you know you've been waiting for something interesting to happen," Stark stated, not believing the act she was currently putting on. He then continued, "I couldn't believe when I got word that you were here of all places."

She studied him silently as he talked, trying to figure him out. He didn't seem…like his normal self. He struck her as a bit distracted-his mind partially somewhere else in who knows where. She pursed her lips slightly wondering what was his purpose for visiting.

As if he read her mind he gave her an offended look, "What? Can I not visit my wounded little agent?" He looked a bit hurt that she would be so skeptical but then relented, "Besides, you slept through Christmas-I was hoping you would be roused from you…uh induced coma before the holiday hit. I brought a present over on Christmas Eve (which I am quite a busy man, you know. I thought it was quite generous of me) but Clint told me you were still out."

"You could have left it here," Pippa said smartly, as if this was the obvious route.

Her words earned a small scoffing noise from Tony. "And give little Katniss time for him to snoop and figure out your present? No thanks," he said with obvious discomfort. Pippa watched as he then suddenly looked around the room. Satisfied, he then leant in closer and lowered his voice, "There's been rumors about S.H.I.E.L.D. Pippa," his face darkened as he stared at her with no traces of humor on his facial features, "strains of whispers that, if they turn out to be true, could ruin everything."

Before she had a chance to digest his words he then straightened up, returning to his usual egotistical confident self, "Anyway, the reason I came was to deliver your Christmas present a la Stark Shuttle." Placing a rather oversized box (which was neatly wrapped in bright festive wrapping paper), he then abruptly stood up and glanced out the window.

"Are you leaving already?" Pippa asked, her spirits which had been uplifted suddenly deflated at the thought of him leaving so quickly.

He nodded, looking rather grim, "I have a flight to catch…" he checked his watch, "right about now. Business calls."

Pippa muttered a goodbye under her breath, displeased by the sudden turn of events. She hoped that he would have told her all the news that took place while she was…sleeping.

Tony hurried towards the door, sending her an apologetic look. "Make sure you open that up," he instructed the brunette woman. She nodded in response. Relieved that she agreed to his suggestion, he shut the door behind him, leaving her to her own devices.

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 **Author's Note:** I  cannot wait to hear what you guys think so l **eave some love and review! If you're stuck on what to write leave your opinion on what team your on (Clint or Steve (although the latter hasn't been inserted in the story yet). What do you think is in the package? What do you think Tony is up to? What do you think about Clint's 'smooth move' (AKA the kiss) on Pippa? What do you hope to see in the next chapter and/or this story?**

I hope to hear from you!

Much love,

 _The Painted Green Door_


	3. Chapter Two

**Note:** You thought this story was dead? So did I. But I have revived it and brought it back to life. Mwahaha.

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 **Chapter Two:**

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Pippa followed Stark's instructions and tore of the wrapping paper, although she did so quite warily since she feared that this was one of Tony's pranks. Her fingertips met the smooth surface of a white glossy cardboard box. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, preparing herself for the worst before she cautiously opened the top to reveal the box's contents.

What she saw inside made her breath hitch and her throat constrict.

She found her own hands shaking as she ever so gently touched the plastic surface that served as the protective barrier of her most prized possession: her vintage Captain America trading cards.

She tried to control her breathing, afraid that if she did breath, her cards would melt away and she would awake from some terrible dream. Instead, she focused on chewing on the inside of her cheek – applying enough pressure to cause minimal pain, but enough to prove to herself that this was indeed reality.

It was then that she noticed that an empty barren spot stared at her. Her heart plummeted. One card had gone missing. She racked in brain, trying to bring up her memories. She squinted as if that would assist her in recalling the past.

She did a sharp intake of air as realization dawned upon her that the one card that was missing was the one that had _Sorry_ scribbled on it. The one that Captain America had signed. The one that Steve Rogers had so kindly written upon. The only card that was actually signed by him.

The brunette felt a prickling sensation form behind her eyes and she pushed the feeling back. Hands still shaking, the young woman put the lid back on top, shielding away the contents from daylight, herself, and the rest of the world.

As she slid the box under her bed it was as if a spell was broken. She could breathe normally again. The sadness that she had felt for the one missing card was momentarily stalled. The dull sound of the methodic clock on her dresser ticked away. Pippa leant back against the bed's frame, exhausted from the emotions that had swept through her during her opening of the gift.

Only two questions prevailed in her mind at this moment in time: How did Stark acquire the trading cards? And why was one card missing?

Pippa feared that her questions would not be answered anytime soon.

With a small sigh to herself, she let herself sink into the mattress and under the covers. Closing her eyes she let herself drift into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Life with Clint was, as Pippa found, quite quiet.

Ever since the kitchen incident, the expert archer had kept a distance from her. He would often sneak out to the shed or some other place outside before she awoke, and would frequently not return until Pippa was already asleep. Sometimes he would lock himself in his office, and not come out all day. The lack of his company made her feel lonely very quickly. To fill the void, she entertained herself with reading. Oh, Clint had a small yet wonderful collection of books that were in his small yet cozy office. She enjoyed going into his office when he was not there, and running her fingertips over the spines of his book collection as she mused to herself what book she would conquer in reading.

Once picking her conquest, she would slowly and carefully pad over to the couch in the living room and curl up with a thick, warm blanket, and a roaring fire keeping her company.

It was during her third visit to Clint's office that she noticed a small photo frame. She peered at it quickly, feeling as if she was invading his privacy – somehow that seemed so wrong after all the kindness he had shown her. Yet she peered at the photograph anyways, and was surprised to see what looked like a younger version of Clint and a young beautiful woman smiling, obviously quite happy together.

Pippa wondered what significance the picture held. He had never mentioned that he had a sister, only a brother. But was it possible that he indeed have a kid sister? Or perhaps it was a cousin or friend from college.

She found herself wanting to confront him. She desired to question him, to interrogate him. After all, she had ample time and opportunity to do so. It was, after all, just Pippa and Clint on the farm. She could pester him, and demand an answer.

But she never asked, and instead returned to her reading.

* * *

By the time she had finished reading all of the books in his collection twice over, Clint had become a more constant figure in her life. Instead of avoiding her, he sought out her company. They would spend breakfast with each other, with Clint reading the newspaper and with Pippa reading one of the novels that belonged in Clint.

During the afternoons he would work in his shop and she would keep him company, watching him as he fiddled with motors and machines. She would perch herself on top of a small step ladder, and watch him attentively, almost transfixed as he worked tirelessly on whatever project he deemed to be needed or required.

During the nights they would eat dinner and then sit on the couch together in front of the fire. Sometimes they would simply stare at the flames and glowing embers, each lost in their own thoughts. Most times they would read their respective chosen literature. Often they would share a blanket. Frequently Pippa would fall sleep and Clint would be the designated pillow for her head.

Yes, the days were often still full of silence, but it was the comfortable kind of silence.

* * *

Somehow summer came and went in a blink of an eye. Somehow the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. And somehow, Pippa wasn't sure how exactly, it was already winter again. Christmas and the New Year came and went with good cheer. Clint was sure not to kiss her on Christmas, and instead held her hand as they sat on the couch together, staring at the dying embers. Pippa allowed it because it felt nice. The palm of his hand was rough and calloused, but oh so gentle.

It was February when trouble finally came to their little haven, and it came in the form of a knock on the door. They had just finished their breakfast when the sound resounded throughout their home, and Pippa went to go answer it only for Clint to stop her.

"Go upstairs. I'll answer the door and finish the dishes," he told her plainly, clearly not in the mood to be argued with. The young woman opened her mouth to protest but when his steel gray eyes met her own, she gave a short nod and hurried with as much speed as she could up the stairs.

From her own room she could hear Clint's loud footsteps (she couldn't understand how he managed to be S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he walked rather loudly when he was at home). She waited with bated breath, ears ready to take in all the sounds from downstairs.

"Gentlemen," Clint said with a lightly amused voice. She edged closer to the top of the stairs, curious. She wanted to know desperately what was happening down below. Pippa recognized the look in Clint's eyes when he told her to go upstairs. She tried to imagine when was the last time she saw such a look. It seemed like such a long time ago. It seemed to foreign.

"Agent Barton, always pleasant to see you," a clipped masculine tone responded in turn. For some reason the inside of her stomach churned uneasily.

Footsteps. They must be in the hallway now. Pippa closed her eyes to concentrate on the sound. Three. No. Four other men were downstairs not including Clint. She frowned at the information.

"Would you like some coffee?" Clint offered, sounding like a gracious host. She smiled a little bit at the thought of him being so polite.

A muffled cough.

"No, I'm afraid not. You see, we are on business," the male stranger spoke again. Pippa took a small step down the stairs, wanting to hear better and perhaps see a glimpse of whoever was in the hallway. She clutched the railing of the stairs, hoping that it would secure her balance.

A pause.

"I am afraid to inform you that Steve Rogers has shown his true colors earlier today at 6:39 A.M. At that precise moment he went against S.H.I.E.L.D.'s orders and compromised a mission. In addition he has violently attacked a considerable amount of fellow agents who are now currently being hospitalized, and has committed a great amount of damage to the facilities in Washington, D.C."

Another pause. Then:

"It is with great regret, and with no other choice, that Rogers is now declared an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D. Since he is now seen as a fugitive, we request that you, Agent Barton to bring an end to his antics, to his madness…whether that would mean sparing his life and bringing him into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody, or bringing about the unfortunate demise of Captain Rogers."

Pippa screamed.

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 **Author's Note:** Review please?

Also, for those who do not know, this story takes place around _Captain America: Winter Soldier_. Also for those who did not appreciate the big time skip that took place in this chapter, I apologize. My goal was not to disappoint you, but rather show that time has quickly become muddled for Pippa while she is at the "safe house" and that Pippa and Clint have become comfortable as companions - in a way.

What did you guys think about this chapter? Was it a good cliffhanger? Also, as always: **Team Clint or Team Steve?**

\- The Painted Green Door


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